


Blood of the People

by flamewing80, HerenyaHope



Series: The People's Saga [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Multi, Parent Lavellan, Parent Solas, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-07-20 15:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19994572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamewing80/pseuds/flamewing80, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerenyaHope/pseuds/HerenyaHope
Summary: POST TRESPASSER: After discovering Solas' true identity and his plan, Nimwen Lavellan must contend with the aftermath while taking care of her and Solas' young daughter, Lorien. However, change comes after a encounter with a mysterious elf who claims to know Solas' next move. As Nimwen and him chase down Solas, she finds herself learning more about Solas than she ever could imagine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Flamewing80: I write Mahvir, Solas, and a few other characters through out this story.  
> Herenya: I write Nimwen, Lorien,

“ _Mamae_ , why the sky blue?”

“It’s what happens when the sun reflects on the rain droplets.”

“But it sunny! No rain.”

“There is always rain in the sky, _da’len_. Even if you can’t see it.”

Lori looked up at her mother, pouting. “That don’t make sense, _mamae_.”

Nimwen chuckled. “There’s a lot of things that may not make sense, Lori, but this doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”

The two elves were enjoying a stroll outside the gates of Val Royeaux. After the Inquisition decided to serve the Chantry, Nimwen assumed her duties would lessen given she had less than half of her numbers left. The opposite was true, and unfortunately it left little time for the walks she and Lori enjoyed taking together. The toddler had been confused when she was told they were leaving Skyhold. It had been all she’d ever known, but Nimwen assured her that where they were going was going to be exciting and new. The sights and wonders of the city made for a much easier adjustment for Lori, perhaps easier than her mother’s. 

“Carry me, _mamae_ ,” Lori asked, tugging on the hand that held hers.

Nimwen stiffened. Just then a gust of wind passed over them. It made the sleeve of her stump arm flutter about, as if the winds were mocking her. Since she lost her arm it made once simple things difficult. She could still hold Lori, for the girl weighed next to nothing, but she had to be sitting in a chair in order to get the right grip. She could no longer kneel down and scoop the girl off her feet, like she had done a thousand times before. 

“We can stop later if you’re tired,” Nimwen responded.

Lori sighed. “But I want you carry me.” She looked up at Nimwen with wide, halla-eyes. “Please, _mamae_?”

Nimwen swallowed. “Not right now, _da’len_. Maybe later.”

Lori looked down. “Okay,” she mumbled, disappointed.

The two continued to walk down the path, hand in hand, and Nimwen did her best not to let her child see the sadness in her eyes. A simple thing like being able to carry her daughter whenever she pleased was gone, just like her arm was gone. So many things were now gone.

The pathway they were on opened up into a beautiful clearing. On a bright, warm day such as this, it wasn’t uncommon to see a few people out. However, today the clearing appeared empty at first glance. On a second glance, she saw a cloaked figure stood in the center of the clearing. The clothing looked like layers, upon layers of torn and tattered rags falling over even shabbier robes. All of the clothes were dark, shades of gray and black. In the figure’s right hand was clutched a roughly carved staff. The staff didn’t appear to be a magical one, but this didn’t mean anything. 

Soft sound came from the person. A whistle, lighter than the wind and just as elegant. The sound wove almost as words through the air. The next moment wings fluttered behind Nimwen. A raven flew over her, its talons grazing the top of her head. The bird gave an indigent sounding caw, eyes flashing at her before he twisted and flew over to the figure. The raven landed on the figure’s shoulder, beak nipping at the edge of the figure’s hood. 

“Lookit, _mamae_ ,” Lori squealed, jumping up and down. “Pretty bird!” she said, pointing to the creature.

“Yes, pretty bird,” Nimwen grumbled, rubbing her head where the bird swiped her. 

Normally she would have brushed such an incident off, but her mood was already sour, not to mention the presence of her daughter had her maternal instincts kicking in. She marched over to the hooded figure, still holding Lori’s hand.

“Excuse me?” she called, voice clipped but still civil. “I would appreciate it if you kept your bird under control, it swooped at my me and my daughter.”

The figure turned to her and bowed. “My apologies, my lady,” his voice was smooth and elegant. By his height, he had to be an elf. “Fear tends to enjoy aggravating people whenever he can.” The man turned his head to the bird. “Apologize to her.” 

The raven cocked his head, gave an almost arrogant sound as he flipped his wings. 

“Apologize,” the man’s voice was a little more stern. 

The raven looked at Nimwen, eyes the color of burning coals. Then the raven bowed its head to her, the caw it made was almost akin to an apology. 

“It talk!” Lori said, taking her hand away from Nimwen to clap. 

“He is a smart bird,” Nimwen replied. It reminded her a bit of Baron Plucky and the rest of Leliana’s birds. Visions of black feathers and the echoes of caws and fluttering wings filled her mind for the briefest of moments, and her heart panged. 

“I pet?” Lori asked, reaching up.

“Lori, don’t be rude,” Nimwen said, taking her daughter’s hand. “Sorry,” she said to the elven man.

“It is for the best she doesn’t. Fear doesn’t tend to like people.” 

The raven snapped its beak as if to agree with the man. 

A shadow passed over them. Another raven, this one a beautiful white, landed on the top of the man’s staff. He looked up at it and it looked down at him. This raven’s eyes were a crisp, icy blue. A color Nimwen had never seen a raven have before. 

“Pretty,” Lori said in awe. “What bird name?”

“This is Deceit.” The man looked at them. “I named them after the legends of Dirthamen’s two ravens.” 

Fear snapped his beak, indigent. 

“Though, in hindsight, naming them after demons wasn’t my brightest idea.” 

“Feefee, Deedee,” Lori said pointing to the two birds.

Fear dropped his beak in utter shock. On the staff tip, Deceit gave several short caws which sounded an awful lot like laughter. 

Nimwen chuckled nervously as she tried to get a read on this man. The only ones in Nimwen’s experience who remembered the names of Dirthamen’s ravens were Dalish, but she couldn’t hear any hint of an accent on him. Also any man who would name his pets after fear and deceit could not be just an average elf. This man and his birds were different, and Nimwen found her curiosity piqued. 

“Where did you learn of Dirthamen’s ravens? It’s not very well known.”

The man’s eyes crinkled a little to show he was smiling. In the shadows of his hood his eyes appeared black as the moonless night. “I’ve sought much of our People’s lore. Spoken with those Dalish Clans willing to exchange knowledge and traveled most of southern Thedas. I learned of the ravens’ names in an ancient ruin on the Exalted Plains.” 

Nimwen’s blood ran cold. Those words, not the same and yet so familiar. It was like she was back in Haven, a lifetime ago, when she first sat down and had a discussion with-

“ _Mamae_?” Lori asked.

Nimwen blinked, drawn back to the present. “Yes, _da’len_?” she asked, looking down at Lori.

“You make face, arm hurt?” Lori asked.

Nimwen sighed. “No, no, my arm is fine. _Ma serannas_ , sweetie.”

“My _mamae_ got hurt,” Lori said to the stranger. “Now her arm gone and it hurt-”

“Lori,” Nimwen shushed her, her cheeks warm. She’d rather her daughter not divulge her personal life to a stranger. “Sorry, Lori likes to share.”

Fear nipped at the man’s hood.

“As children should. An innocent heart is something to be thankful for, even in one so young.” The man’s eyes were soft as he looked down at Lori. He turned his dark gaze back to Nimwen. “Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t mean to drag up old memories.” 

“No, no it’s fine. Sometimes we can’t help when things get brought up,” Nimwen assured him. “My name is Nimwen,” she said. “Who are you?”

“A far more interesting question than one realizes when asking.” The man’s eyes sparkled with a smile. “Who I am isn’t a name, but if it is a name you seek, I am called Mahvir.” 

“ _Aneth ara, Mahvir_ ,” Nimwen said. In the back of her mind, the way he spoke reminded her of somebody.

“I Lori!” the little girl beamed. “Where you get birds, Mahvy?”

“ _Andaran atish’an_ , Lori and Nimwen.” Mahvir bowed his head. He then looked at the ravens. “I tricked them into my service,” his voice was light. It almost sounded like he was joking and, in the same moment, he sounded serious. 

Nimwen’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”

“That not nice,” Lori pouted. “Trick bad.”

The man chuckled. “Forgive me, I tend to joke about such matters since that is how Dirthamen managed to get the original Fear and Deceit.” 

Fear snapped his beak, feathers ruffled and eyes blazing. 

Deceit preened. 

“Aunt Lilly had birdies,” Lori said. “She let me pet.”

“Lori, he already said you can’t pet them,” Nimwen reminded the girl. Lori puffed her cheeks, and gave a tiny, frustrated scowl that reminded Nimwen so much of-

‘ _Stop it_ ,’ she chided herself. 

“Why I no pet them?” Lori asked Mahvir. “They no like pet?”

The man hesitated and looked from Lori to the birds. “Ravens are carrion birds,” he started. “Their very nature is to be aggressive, mean. These two more than others. I don’t even try to pet them.” 

“And, yet, they seem so well behaved,” Nimwen joked, looking at the two birds perched on their master. 

Fear fluffed out his feathers, looking almost proud on Mahvir’s shoulder. Deceit shook out its feathers and gave a short caw to Fear. Fear cawed back, feathers now fluffed in rage rather than pride. 

“If you two want to fight, take it elsewhere,” Mahvir told the birds. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “They’re worse than siblings, I swear.” 

Nimwen chuckled. “Have experience?” she asked. 

He grimaced. “More than I care to admit.” He looked at them, eyes crinkled in a smile once more. “My apologies Fear disrupted your walk, my lady.” 

“It’s fine, city life has been a bit dull I’m afraid. If it takes a raven swooping on me to liven things up, I’ll take it,” Nimwen said. “So, what brings you to Val Royeaux?”

“News,” was all he said in reply. 

“Good or bad?” she inquired.

“In general. Spending so much time alone in the wilderness cuts one off from the day to day happenings of society. The last time I managed to get an update was when the Breach was still in the sky, some two years ago now.” 

“Beach!” Lori exclaimed. “ _Mamae_ beat beach.”

“It’s _Breach_ ,” Nimwen corrected her.

“My _mamae_ a hero,” Lori grinned up at Nimwen, pride in her little face.

The mage smiled back, her heart warm.

“A rare and noble title to have, especially when given from one’s child,” the man stated. “There are too few heroes in the world and too many out for their own gain.” 

Deceit snapped its beak. 

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Nimwen replied. “And for those who aren’t corrupted, the world changes its mind about them. You’re their Herald one minute, and then they want you gone the next.” She rubbed her forehead. “Sorry, I can’t believe I’m saying this all to a stranger.”

The man’s gaze was sad. He bowed his head. “It’s quite all right, Lady Nimwen.” He looked up at Deceit. 

The raven cocked its head before launching into the air. A rustle of feathers and the bird soon vanished into the distance. Fear remained perched on Mahvir’s shoulder. 

“I hope we may meet again.” He bowed his head to her, causing Fear to caw in annoyance and flap his wings to remain on his perch. 

“As do I,” Nimwen replied, giving him a small smile. She looked down at Lori. “Come on, _da’len_ , we had better get back before your Aunt Cass throws a fit wondering where we are.”

Lori giggled. “Aunt Cass funny.”

“Not when she’s fussing,” Nimwen responded. She went to take Lori’s hand.

“Nu-uh, I want carry, you promise,” Lori said. 

Nimwen groaned. She would have, but there was nothing in the clearing to sit on, and if she sat on the ground there was no way she could get back up with Lori in her arm. “I’m sorry, Lori. Maybe some other time.”

“If it isn’t overstepping and you would permit, I could pass you the little one,” Mahvir said from where he had been watching them. 

Nimwen blinked. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all.” He eyes sparkled with the smile. 

“W-well, I don’t see...sure,” Nimwen stuttered.

“Yay!” Lori cheered.

Mahvir lowered his staff to the ground as he knelt. Fear snapped his beak and took off, landing on the ground nearby to watch them with eyes akin to flame. 

Nimwen watched as Mahvir carefully picked up Lori and stood. He helped Nimwen get a hold of the little girl and only stepped back when Nimwen’s grip was secure. 

Nimwen felt content once Lori was in her hold. It was a little thing that made it feel like things were back to normal: almost. “Thank you,” she said to Mahvir. “You are very kind.”

“My pleasure.” Mahvir bowed to her. He knelt and picked up his staff. The moment he was upright, Fear returned to his shoulder in a fluttering of black feathers. “I wish you well, Lady Nimwen, da’Lori.” His eyes showed a softness of a smile. Then his gaze turned to the sky, his attention no longer on them. 

“Come on then, _da’fen_ , time to go home,” Nimwen said to Lori.

“We go back Sky?” Lori asked.

Nimwen’s smile faltered. “No, no, Lori. Val Royeaux is home now, remember?”

Lori frowned. “Nuh-uh. Home is castle, with everybody.”

“Come on, Lori. Aunt Cass is waiting,” Nimwen said quietly. She looked back to Mahvir. “ _Dareth shiral, lethallin_.”

Mahvir looked at her and bowed his head. “Safe journey, _da’len_.” 

Nimwen turned away from the clearing, the dreaded Val Royeaux looming over her. Lori was right. Even if she remained there for the rest of her days, the Orleasian capital would never be their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translations:
> 
> Mamae: Mother  
> Da’len: Little one  
> Ma serannas: Thank you  
> Aneth ara: Hello  
> Andaran atish’an: Enter this place in peace (formal greeting)  
> Da’fen: Little Wolf


	2. Chapter 2

Mahvir watched the two until they vanished from his sight. A soft tap of talons on wood warned him moments before the sound became reality. Sure enough, when he looked up, Deceit had returned to her perch. 

“There was nothing around,” she informed him, icy eyes locked on him. 

“I know,” Mahvir stated. “Follow them, Deceit.” 

The raven bowed her head before taking off after the two elves. 

“You’re letting them go with only Deceit to watch them?” Fear snapped his beak. “Your heart is uneasy with fear for their future. More fear for the two of them than for the rest of the People. It’s like with _her_.” 

Mahvir shot the raven a sharp look. “ _She_ died a long time ago.” He started off towards the city, his pace slow and staff pressing into the ground with each step he took. His bare feet soon touched the smooth roads of Val Royeaux. The sun was setting in the distance by the time he entered the city proper, unnoticed by the guards and most of the citizens, a trick he had become quite good at over his long life. 

“Their fear is tainted, silly, petty matters,” Fear’s voice clicked as whispers in Mahvir’s ear. 

The raven sounded disgusted, but he knew all too well it was these fears Fear adored the most. He loved to play off them and to see the despair in the eyes of nobles. 

“Why are we really here?” Fear asked at length as the city fell to sleep around them. “For his love or for your own curiosity?” 

Mahvir didn’t reply. 

Fear clicked his beak and shifted his wings in annoyance. “The answer will be clear to me in time. You can’t run from me or from the truth.” 

Mahvir stopped before a statue of Andraste and knelt down near to it, hidden in the shadows. “Perhaps,” he whispered to the raven. “And perhaps not. You can only see the fears I let you, _Pet_.” 

Fear’s talons pinched the thick layers of cloth on Mahvir’s shoulder. His head tossed to one side to show his rage at the title. “If I wasn’t bound to you,” the raven started to threaten. 

“You would be dead,” Mahvir stated as he pulled out a loaf of bread he had managed to steal on the way here. He tore into it, passing Fear pieces as he ate for the raven too eat. 

The night was cool, almost silent. A few stragglers were seen hurrying home or being carried through the city in extravagant carriages. Mahvir watched and waited. His contact from the Inquisition would meet him here in the morning. He saw no need to move from this spot. 

Fear pulled at his hood. “More.” 

Mahvir sighed and passed the raven the remains of the pathetic meal. “You should’ve been called ‘Greed’ not ‘Fear,’” he teased the raven. 

Fear snapped his beak and settled deeper down onto Mahvir’s shoulder for the night.

Soon the night would give way to day. And he would see the Inquisitor again, instead of as a stranger, as an informant. He sighed. “ _Why do you seek the past and never the future_?” he whispered the question in elven. 

The first moments of heat returning to the world marked the start of a new day. The sky was bleached pink and blue, and the sun had yet to climb its way above the high roofs of Val Royeaux. 

“Sir.” 

Mahvir stood. A human was standing before him. “Morning, my lady.” He bowed his head to her. She wore the clothes of an agent of the Inquisition. “You wouldn’t happen to be Rhian, would you?” he knew the answer before he asked it. After all he had known the girl for most of her life. 

“Aye, and we both know who you are,” she replied. She had dark skin with the warmth of caramel, and the little of her hair that could be seen under her hood was black and spiraled. She had a scar that ran across her nose, just under her hazel eyes. Nobody would have suspected her as an elf-blooded human, even with her high cheekbones and eyes that were rounder than most humans. This made her perfect as Mahvir’s spy. “Safe journey, my lord?”

“Safe enough,” he replied.

“What do you need?”

“A meeting with the Divine’s Inquisition,” Mahvir told her. “I believe it’s time those groups conspiring against the end of world pool information, do you not?” 

“I do,” Rhian replied the ghost of a smile on her face. “So, what shall I tell the Inquisitor? I doubt you want me using your real name.”

“Tell her Mahvir has information she will find useful.” 

“And where should she meet him?”

“The upper market,” Mahvir said without hesitation. “It is a safe enough place she won’t feel this could be a trap and private enough we can discuss what needs to be discussed without prying ears.” 

“Very well.” Rhian put her fist to her chest and bowed. “It shall be done, my lord.”

“ _Ma serannas_ , _da’len_.” Mahvir bowed his head to her. He watched her disappear and return to her role as an Inquisition Agent. He turned to face the statue of Andraste once more. Without a word he laid a single red rose by the foot of the statue before he headed for the upper market. His progress was slow as he moved through the growing crowd, keeping to the edges to remain unnoticed by the few nobles who were out this early. Only those elven servants who knew him noticed his passing. 

By the time Mahvir made it to the upper market, the pale young sun had climbed its way into the sky proper, and the hustle and bustle of the city returned with it. When he arrived at the spot Rhian would tell the Inquisitor to come to, he took rest, leaning against his staff. His breathing came out uneven and his chest tight. It took him several long moments to regain his breath. 

Fear shifted on his shoulder but was otherwise quiet, for once. 

Soon Mahvir could see a familiar elf making her way towards him. She was no longer dressed in the simple summer gown he saw her in the other day. She wore a coat of dark blue, august ram leather with an undershirt made of silk brocade. The sleeve on her left arm had been hemmed, stopping below her stump. She walked with purpose and authority. It was easy for him to see the shift between a young mother taking a stroll and the Inquisitor on her way to a meeting.

“I didn’t think I would be seeing you again so soon,” Nimwen said, half amused, half suspicious. “Given what my agent told me, you have information I would be interested in?”

“It was for the best not to sour such a beautiful day as yesterday with dark news. Especially before a child,” Mahvir said in way for greeting to her. “Forgive my not being forthcoming.” He bowed. 

Fear screeched his rage at the movement, flapping his wings. 

“There’s that aggression you mentioned,” Nimwen said, eyeing the bird. “So running into you the other day, not so much of a happy coincidence?”

“It depends on if you believe in coincidences or not,” he replied. “In my experience most events happen for a reason. The reason is sometimes unclear, but there is a reason.” 

“Some, perhaps, but I believe in coincidences. I have to. Otherwise I would have to admit that the universe must really hate me.”

“I doubt the universe hates anyone.” Mahvir smiled as he lowered the cloth covering his face. 

Nimwen raised a brow, making her blue _vallaslin_ wrinkle. “Not Dalish after all,” she said.

“I am no less of the People simply because I refuse to mark my face,” Mahvir replied. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of the pain he would go through having the tattoos placed on his face. 

“Somebody’s jumping to conclusions. I never claimed I believed you any less of the People, I’ve just found elves who are learned in our history outside of the Dalish are small in number. As for marking our faces, I assure you I would rid myself of these marks if I could.” Her brow furrowed. “However the one person I know who could do it is not here at the moment. So, back to business, what do you have for me?”

“Information on the one person you spoke of.” Mahvir gave her as gentle a smile as he could. His heart twisted a little. He wished he had Solas’s magical ability so he could rid the marks of slavery from the People. But his abilities in such matters were so weak it wouldn’t have even faded the marks. Outside of wielding a staff and few tricks, he was far from a mage. 

Nimwen’s eyes narrowed, icy and sharp. “What do you know of him?” she asked, voice low.

“Quite a bit, but most of it has little do with why I came.” Mahvir knew she had been hurt too much by Solas for this to be easy, but he wasn’t going to lie to her face either. Nor was he going to bluntly state everything. It was a delicate situation and he could easily be cast as the enemy instead of an ally. “Many of the People wish to rise back to power, but others disagree with Solas’s methods. Those who do, came to me with information. I, alone, can do nothing to stop him and, thus, upon learning of his ties with the Inquisition, I came here in hopes we could pool our knowledge and stop him before it’s too late for everyone.” 

“And why did the People go to _you_ with this information?” Nimwen asked. “Who are you to them?”

“A beacon when times were at the darkest for our People. But, I fear, my light has long since faded from memory into legend.” 

“That doesn’t quite answer my question,” Nimwen retorted. “Tell me who you are and what is your connection to Solas?”

Mahvir sighed. There was no getting around it. “Tell me what do you know of how our People won the Dales one thousand years ago? I hear the chant has recently reinstalled those pieces to it.” 

“The _shem_ prophet Andraste had an elven ally, Shartan,” Nimwen said. “When they were both burned, her sons granted the People the Dales, that is until they took it back centuries later.”

“Every age has a Shartan. One of the People who shows the rest there is a hope for the future. I am the one who they came to and it is the reason I took the name Mahvir.” It was part of the truth. Mahvir didn’t want to explain how it was he had lived for a thousand years, not until she wouldn’t stab him for it. “I live for the future of our People.” 

“So, what can you tell me to help them?” Nimwen asked. 

“Solas’s movements,” Mahvir informed her, face straight. “Where he is going, his plans, and more.” 

Nimwen went to cross her arms, but her hand slipped as if she forgot there was no longer an arm to rest it on. “ _Fenhedis_ ,” she cursed under her breath. She shook her head. “Nevermind, what can you tell me. Where is he, what is he planning?”

“You know he plans to bring back Elvhenan and, in doing so, it will destroy this world, along with the majority of the people, including his own followers. Currently, my informants tell me he spends much of his time within the crossroads. We have a few years before he can figure out a way to physically enter the Fade, but that is little time for us and for all the peoples of Thedas.”

“How do you think he plans to do it, make another Anchor?” Nimwen asked.

“He took pieces of the Anchor you held, but another full Anchor will take him those years to craft and a far greater amount of magic than what he currently holds. He has agents searching through some of the ruins you two discovered for any information on the location of other elvhen artifacts which hold pieces of a key to another full Anchor.” 

“It will take much power to match that of the _foci_. A new Anchor will cost him much. An arm or a leg perhaps,” Nimwen said with a bitter chuckle. “I am not in a position to go digging through ruins, but I may be able to find people willing to go. Give me a location and I shall send them on their way.”

Mahvir frowned. He was certain Solas would have told his love he wouldn’t be affected by the Anchor. Instead of pointing this out, he held up his hand. “My information comes with a price. I wish to join your group. Together we can move faster than alone. My informants added to your forces under the Divine.” 

“I suppose I am in no position to refuse your help, even if that’s what I wanted.” Nimwen extended her hand. “No matter who we serve, the Inquisition welcomes any help it gets.”

“My thanks.” Mahvir took her hand. “Perhaps together we can show an ancient elf our world is worth saving and fighting for.” 

For the first time since she arrived, a small smile appeared on Nimwen’s face. “Perhaps we can,” she agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven Translations
> 
> Da'len: Young one  
> Ma Serannas: Thank you  
> Shem: Human  
> Fenedhis: Elven curse word


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Flame: Sorry to anyone who saw a chapter 4 twice. The last one (Dirthamen) was meant for my solo story Inquisitor's Mask and I posted it here by mistake.

Nimwen passed through the growing afternoon crowds, Mahvir following close behind. The Grand Cathedral would soon be in view, and despite the elf’s less than favorable opinion of Val Royeaux, she still found the building impressive. “Have you ever been in the Grand Cathedral, _lethallin_?” she asked Mahvir.

“No,” he replied, voice distant. The word had been spoken with a breathlessness behind it and he moved slow. Several times Nimwen had to slow down to match his pace. 

“It’s quite beautiful,” Nimwen said, eyeing Mahvir with curiosity. “One of the few things in Val Royeaux that is actually worthy of lavishness.” Her brow furrowed. “Are you all right?” she asked, noticing the fatigue on his face.

He managed to give her small smile, but didn’t otherwise speak. He pulled out a plant from one of the pouches at his belt. Nimwen recognized it at once as one which was used for elders in her clan to ease breathing during the colder months. Mahvir placed the tip of the plant in his mouth. 

“Is something wrong with your breathing?” she asked, concerned.

Both his eyebrows rose. “You’re the first to recognize the plant,” the words were quick as if he was struggling for air. “My breathing is poor,” he explained. 

“Do you need to sit down?” she asked. She stopped walking and turned around to face him. “We can take a break, nobody is going anywhere,” she assured him.

“You are too kind, my lady.” He stopped as well and leaned against the wall. He took out another few plants and started to mix them together in a bowl. Each one Nimwen recognized as something the Keeper had been teaching her to help strengthen the elders for long journeys, breathing, pain, and more. 

“Come, there’s a bench right over there,” she said, pointing to the stone seating nearby. She knew his condition had to be serious, given how short a distance they’d walked before his breathing started to act up. She would feel more at ease once he was sitting down.

“This is all I need.” He held up the bowl. “I am not here to be a burden upon you, Inquisitor. I’ve lived with this most of my life.” He lowered his hood before he downed the bowl’s contents. It was then Nimwen saw just how young he was. He couldn’t have been more than three or four years older than her. His black hair chopped to shoulder length part of it bound back back from his eyes. His eyes were a dark, rich purple. 

“You’ll be more of a burden if you pass out,” Nimwen said with a roll of her eyes. “ _I’m_ going to sit down. Feel free to join me.” She strode over to the bench, well shaded beneath an apple tree. She sat down and crossed her legs, looking at Mahvir to see what he’d do. 

A small sigh escaped him. After a moment, he joined her on the bench. Fear snapped his beak a little and hopped down to rest on Mahvir’s leg. The long beak of the raven then nibbled at Mahvir’s black gloved fingers. 

“Greedy thing.” Mahvir pulled out a few bread crumbs. 

The raven snapped them up faster than one could blink. 

“See, isn’t this nice?” she teased gesturing to the scene. “Even your bird approves.”

“Fear wasn’t even doing any work.” Mahvir gave the bird a playful glare. It was easier to relax after seeing his face and just how young he really was. “Human cities are very different from one another,” he mused. “I will confess I’ve only been to Val Royeaux once before.” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them,” Nimwen admitted. “There are some advantages; a market with food available everyday, permanent shelter, books-I love the books. But so many people! I still can’t believe so many people can live in one place,” Nimwen shuddered. “Sometimes I forget what it was like back with my clan. Then I go to Val Royeaux, makes it easier to remember,” she chuckled.

“There are places in human cities far more packed than this. The Imperium’s slave pins for one,” he stated as he mixed more of the herbs together. There was already a notable difference in his voice and breathing. 

“I don’t know if I’d ever want to go to Tevinter,” Nimwen said. “Though, I may someday. I have a friend there and I swore I’d visit him.” Nimwen felt a tightness in her chest. It had only been a month since Dorian left for the Imperium, and already she missed him. They had spoken everyday using the messenger crystals, but there was something about not being able to see him, or hug him, that had the elf missing her best friend even more.

“It wouldn’t happen to be the new magistor I’ve been hearing about, is it?” Mahvir asked before he drank the bowl and made a face. 

“Yes, that would be him,” Nimwen replied. “Still can’t believe I have to call him Magister Pavus, though the minute he commands me to call him that I’m burning his mustache.”

“A magistor friendly to one of the People.” Mahvir had a sad smile on his face as he looked at Fear. “The future might be closer than we think where our People can walk on equal footing with the humans once more.”

“It might just be, though the only reason anyone bothered with me was because my hand glowed.” Just as she mentioned it, Nimwen winced, the end of her stump arm aching. Ever since she lost her arm she would get bouts of pain where the bone ended. The worst though, was when she thought she could feel her fingers, but when she looked down all she saw was empty space. _‘_ _You’re gone, but you still cause me pain_ _,’_ she thought, trying to keep her composure when her arm throbbed.

“Both of us are not even physically thirty yet, and already in poor condition. Quite a pair we make to take on an ancient, immortal elf,” Mahvir’s voice was sad. “Though, the Inquisition follows you still and the People see something in me, who knows what, but they do.”

Nimwen laughed, a sad, hollow laugh. “Oh, yes, they follow. They have a crippled, elven, mage woman who has yet to reach her twenty second birthday and with nary a clue what to do, and still they want me to decide their fates. What a life I lead, huh, Mahvir? What about you, did you take up leadership out of passion, or did fate drop it in your lap and wish you good luck?”

“There is no such thing as luck,” he started and looked across the way. “In part, it was dropped on me. I saw my People suffering at the hands of Tevinter mages, I suffered the same as they did. I decided enough was enough and managed to trick our master. We fled across the south. And thus the People saw me as akin to Shartan. And word spread among servants and slaves until it is what I am known as.” 

“So, when you spoke of Tevinter slave pins, you spoke from personal experience?”

“Yes.” He lifted his gaze to the sky. “But it is in the past. While the past is something we should never forget, it isn’t something we should strive to cling to at the cost of the future. I will not wallow in the pain or the loss, rather strive to make each day one where the People can live free of chains.” 

“I wish I had your strength,” Nimwen whispered. “I’m just so tired.” Her winter eyes glanced up at the branches of the tree above them. “They are so pretty, aren’t they?” she asked, looking at the bright red apples hanging. She lifted her hand and from the tip of her index finger sprouted a small spiral of frost. It gently floated up until it hovered next to an apple. It then stretched and severed the apple from the tree by its stem. As it tumbled down, Nimwen caught it in her palm. “There are three things I like about Val Royeaux,” she said. “Its books, its frilly cakes, and,” - she bit into the apple with a sharp crunch - “it’s apples.”

Mahvir laughed. His laugh was soft as the whistle he had made to call the ravens the other day. “I will have to look into these books you speak so highly of.” He stood. 

Fear screeched and took to the sky before circling around and landing on Mahvir’s shoulder.

“As for my strength, it took a great deal of time to heal wounds of betrayal to find what I live for.” He looked at her, his dark, purple eyes locking onto hers for the first time. The amount of knowledge and pain reflected there was far deeper than she had seen in even Solas’s gaze. “We all must find the one thing we live for: whether it be our People or our family. It’s out there even if you can’t always see it.” 

His words cut deep into her. It made her think of Lori, who was back at the Cathedral in the quarters given to them by Leliana. Her daughter was the main reason Nimwen forced herself out of bed everyday. She only had to think of her smile, her laugh, her constant questions, or her sweetness and the weight on her shoulders felt just a bit lighter. 

“ _Ma serannas_ , Mahvir. You are wise, much wiser than I.”

“You don’t give yourself the credit you deserve, Lady Nimwen. We are all capable of great wisdom and stupidity. Age doesn’t make one wise, experiences do. You’ve experienced enough in your twenty-one years to make you wiser than most.” He held out his hand to her. “Who else is going to wise enough to tell me I need to take to break?” He smiled at her. His smile warm and welcoming. The pain in his eyes had vanished the moment he smiled. 

Nimwen chuckled. “That is less about me being wise, and more about me being a mother. You reminded me of Lori when she refuses to take a nap when she is nearly asleep on her feet.” She smiled.

Throughout her words it looked as if Mahvir was about to start laughing. When she finished he doubled over, laughing hard. 

Fear launched into the air once more shrieking his protest to Mahvir’s movement. The bird landed on Mahvir’s head and peaked him. 

“Away with you!” Mahvir snapped, laughter dying as he shooed the bird. 

Fear landed on the bench beside Nimwen, feathers puffed out and eyes flashing. 

Nimwen held her hand to her mouth as she snickered. “Careful, he means business,” she warned Mahvir. She looked at Fear. “Have mercy, oh, Feathered one, he meant no offense.”

Fear snapped his beak a few times looking as if he was going to actually speak. Then the bird turned his beautiful head to Mahvir, eyes blazing with more rage than before. He spread his wings and took the sky. 

“I believe we just hurt a raven’s pride.” Mahvir chuckled. 

“Poor thing,” Nimwen smirked. She looked to the other elf. “Are you all right? With all that laughing, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were out of breath again.”

“We’ve delayed meeting your allies long enough.” He did sound a little out of breath. “I can rest when reach our destination.” He looked towards the sky. It wasn’t in the direction Fear had gone, rather towards where the scar from the Breach was. 

“You’re right. We had best get going before Cassandra sends for a search party,” Nimwen said with a shake of her head. She stood up, tucking the remainder of her apple away in her bag. “Shall we get going?”

Mahvir bowed his head and gestured for her to take the lead. 

“All right, ready to meet the Divine?” Nimwen asked.

“You make it sound like a simple matter, but, yes.” 

“I promise she doesn’t bite, not all the time at least,” she said with a wink. She started down the path once more, leading Mahvir towards the Grand Cathedral. The throbbing in her arm had faded some, and Nimwen felt a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt since she woken up from the Crossroads.

It took the pair over an hour to get across the Cathedral's courtyard. Mahvir’s breathing was so bad that he started wheezing after a few minutes of walking at a normal pace. For most people this only acted up when running; yet, walking was causing him problems. 

“We can keep going,” he instead the third time this happened. 

Nimwen was unsure, and she wanted to make him stop again. However, they were close and she felt like he would only grow more frustrated if she told him to stop. So she remained quiet, but was silently watching him. If he got any worse, she would then demand they take another break.

When they reached the entrance, Mahvir stopped and leaned against the wall. A thin layer of sweat covered his face and he was shock white. His breathing was low, uneven, and pained. “Forgive me,” was all he managed to say. The words were so hushed the only reason Nimwen could hear them was because of how close she stood. 

“Are you all right?” she asked, worried. She put her arm around him, letting him lean on her. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

His lips twitched in a thin smile. “I’ll live.” He straightened and started forward once more, all of his weight now on his staff. 

Nimwen hovered close, flashing back to when Lori first started to walk. “We don’t have to meet with them right this instant,” she assured him, eyeing his feet for fear he would slip. “You are allowed to rest, _l_ _ethallin_.”

Mahvir stopped and bowed his head. The moment he stopped, his free hand moved to his chest. 

“Mahvir?” Nimwen felt her heart race. “Mahvir, listen, if you’re all right and you’re just winded, nod yes. If there is a problem nod no, and you had better not lie,” she said in what everyone liked to call her ‘mom’ voice.

After a moment, he shook his head. She had moved close enough that she could hear the thinness of his breathing. His hand moved from his chest to his bag. The movement made him stagger into the wall. He slid to the floor, eyes still open but he was sitting up, breathing still thin. He pulled out a vial from his bag. With his teeth he removed one glove before he dipped his long fingers into the container. He spread the poultice on his throat. The movement pulled down his tattered scarfs neckline to reveal thin, nasty scars covering the left side of his neck. His hand was pale, the same scars lacing his fingers and hand. It was the same as the scars Nimwen had seen on people who had been burned. 

At once his breathing eased. “Forgive me,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I sometimes forget I can’t last as long as I used to.” 

“It’s fine,” Nimwen said, her eyes still drawn to his marred skin. “Just so long as you are okay.”

He followed her gaze to his hand. Then he replaced his glove, hiding any signs of the burn. “I’ll live. I’ll always live through it. People can live through just about anything.” 

_‘Y_ _eah like having your arm melt off_ _,’_ Nimwen thought to herself. “Can you stand?” she asked, offering her hand.

“Give me a moment.” After a few minutes, he used his staff to pull himself up. “Can we walk slower this time? I am sorry, but I don’t think I can handle a normal pace right now.” 

“Of course,” Nimwen said, her voice gentle. “You just let me know when you need help, okay?”

He managed a weak smile. “My thanks. You’ve a kind heart, Lady Nimwen.” 

Nimwen blinked. “I...thank you.” More and more she found there was something about this Mahvir… it was like there was a thread, spider’s silk really, between them, and the more he spoke the more she felt it tug. There was more to this man than he let on, and Nimwen was determined to learn more. The matter at hand, however, was getting him to Leliana before he passed out. “Come along then, we have a Divine to meet with. She’s usually in her office around this time.” she said.

He nodded. The two of them started off down the hall at an almost excruciatingly slow pace. He kept one hand on his staff and the other out for balance. Nimwen felt relief when the door to Leliana’s office was in sight. She and Mahvir stopped when the two guards posted outside the door stepped forward.

“We are here to speak to Divine Victoria,” Nimwen said.

“Her Perfection asked that nobody disturbed her, she is quite busy,” one of the guards said.

Nimwen raised a brow. “Did her requests specify that the Inquisitor was not allowed in her office?”

The second guard coughed. “N-no, she said everybody was-”

“Gentlemen, I am certain that the Divine will tell you that I am _not_ everybody. Now please, I would like to speak with her.”

“And who is this?” the first guard asked, pointing to Mahvir.

“Me? I’m nobody.” Mahvir smiled at the guard. 

“And therefore is not ‘everybody.’ Are we clear?” Nimwen asked, flashing a smile.

The guards exchanged nervous glances, but in the end they parted and allowed Nimwen to open the door. “Thank you. Come on, Mahvir.”

“It’s ‘Nobody,’” he corrected, joking. He passed the guard his staff. “So you needn’t think I am here to do Her Perfection harm.” He limped after Nimwen. 

Inside, in the most lavish office Nimwen had ever been in, sat Leliana at an ornate Dragonthorn desk, a mountain of paperwork before her. “Hope none of that is too important,” Nimwen said as she and Mahvir walked inside.

“It is, but I have a feeling you have something more important,” Leliana replied, her blue eyes on Mahvir. “Who are you?”

“I am Mahvir,” he said with a bow of his head. “It is an honor to meet you, your Perfection, Divine Victoria. I came to the Inquisitor with information to aid your search for the ancient elf Solas.” 

“Here, sit down,” Nimwen said, pointing to one of the plump chairs in front of the Divine’s desk. “Do you have any tea, Leliana?”

“Over there,” the redhead replied, gesturing to a pot on a nearby table. 

“Good, I need some,” Nimwen sighed, making her way over.

“So, Mahvir, was it?” Leliana asked. She folded her hands together. “What sort of information do you have about Solas?”

Mahvir remained standing. “I can provide the Inquisitor and yourself, your Perfection, with detailed information on his movements. I have no military force to act on this information and, thus, believed it to be wise if our two groups pooled knowledge in order to,” he hesitated and Nimwen felt his eyes shift to her, “convince him our world is worth keeping.” 

With tea in hand, Nimwen took a seat in one of the chairs. She set the cup onto the desk and then snapped her fingers at Mahvir. “Sit,” she said. “I don’t need you getting sick again.”

The tips of his ears reddened. He looked at the Divine before slowly sitting down. 

“Mahvir said there is a possibility Solas plans to create another Anchor,” Nimwen said, sipping her tea. It wasn’t the minty herbal tea she preferred, but it was sweet and she could already feel her nerves and headache lessen as she drank. “He said it might take years for him to do that, which gives us time to try and get him to see reason.”

“Is that even possible?” Leliana asked. “I know your relationship with him, Inquisitor, but thinking objectively; is a man who has planned to destroy the world going to stop if we ask nicely?”

“It’s not going to be that simple, Leliana,” Nimwen replied. “But there is a chance. Unlike Corypheus, Solas feels he _has_ to end the world, he doesn’t want to.”

“Which makes trying to convince him all the more difficult,” the Divine pointed out. “If he is willing to commit an atrocity even he himself doesn’t want, what is there left to change his mind?”

“A man who believes there is nothing left to lose but love. Who is lost in the belief his actions will undo his greatest crime is not always beyond reason,” Mahvir stated from where he had had been listening to them in silence. “Solas believes in repeating the past, he is undoing all the pain he caused our People. No one ever said the first of our People were easily swayed against their beliefs, but Lady Nimwen has already gotten him to see value in this world. He is far from beyond hope. Besides, the first of the Elvhen can’t be killed in the sense you understand. He would vanish for a time then return and try again, bitter towards the world with nothing left able to sway him.” 

“This is true,” Leliana said. She turned to Nimwen. “You hold more influence over Solas than you may believe, maybe even more than he would care to admit. If anyone can change his mind, it’s you.” The Divine bit her lip. “And perhaps another.”

Nimwen’s eyes widened, realizing what Leliana meant. “No.”

“If he knew, there’s a chance-”

“We are _not_ using her, Leliana,” Nimwen snapped. She gripped her teacup until her knuckles were snowy. 

“Besides getting a child that far behind enemy lines would be dangerous. By all that’s holy, getting Nimwen behind enemy lines will be hard enough.” Mahvir smiled. “And myself if possible.” 

“I was not suggesting we try and bring a two-year old into enemy territory,” Leliana scowled, as if offended at the accusation. “I was merely suggesting that perhaps informing Solas he has a daughter might give him more incentive to not destroy the world.”

“And he’s going to believe me?” Nimwen replied. “I didn’t tell him about Lori when we were in the Crossroads, granted I was too busy being in agony to speak, but regardless I didn’t tell him. So, how is he going to believe me when I say out of the blue he has a child?”

“We are getting several months ahead of ourselves,” Mahvir stopped whatever Leliana might have been about to say. “The first matter of business is waylaying his attempts to find what’s needed to power another Anchor. He has part of what is needed, the very base of it from the original. He will need more than the power he’s gathered over the past two years to enter the Fade let alone tearing down the Veil.” 

“Right then, if you have any insight as to where he will go next, I would like to hear it,” said Leliana.

“My spies within his group have learned he is looking through the remains of the ruins he visited years ago with the Inquisition for any power which might have been overlooked there. I checked the one in the Exalted Plains on my way here, there are many there as well as at the Temple of Dirthamen.” 

“We picked both of those apart years ago,” Nimwen said. “What else could be there for him to take?”

“The creators were said to be meticulous about how they hid their most powerful artifacts. According to my agents, Solas believes Dirthamen would have hid his away where none but Dirthamen or one of his closest followers could find them. Whatever the reasons, Solas has his people looking through those ruins.” Mahvir bowed his head. “I regret I could only get close enough to gather information from a few of my informants. I know nothing else of what he could find in either place other than both were of Dirthamen’s territory.” 

“We have to look into this as soon as possible. I will-” Nimwen paused, realizing what she was about to say. She looked down into her teacup. “I will get _others_ to head out to Dirthamen’s Temple and the _Dirthavaran_ ruins.”

“I will send a few of my people as well,” Leliana said. She looked to Mahvir. “Thank you for coming to us.”

“I believe we have a chance together and it is better to try than sit around waiting for the end to come.” Mahvir smiled Leliana. “I hope this a start of a good partnership. All my knowledge and resources are at your’s and the Inquisitor’s disposal.” 

“Good.” The Divine turned to Nimwen. “Is there anything else you needed?”

“No, it’s fine,” Nimwen replied. “You can return to your paperwork.”

“Thank the Maker,” Leliana said sarcastically. “And you can return to Lori. I am sure the little Lady is missing you.”

“I’m sure she is.” Nimwen stood, placing her tea back on the desk. “Thank you for your time, and the tea.” She turned to the other elf. “Come along, Mahvir.”

“My thanks, your Perfection, Divine Victoria.” He stood and bowed to Leliana. Then, he followed Nimwen out, still favoring one leg. “She’s not dead,” he teased the guard when he took his staff. “Just doing paperwork. Suppose that’s the same thing as wishing you were dead.” 

Nimwen chuckled. “Careful, Mahvir. I don’t want to go down to the dungeon to bail you out.”

“I think my ravens would beat you to it,” he stated with playful smile. They moved off together. Once they were out of earshot of the guards, Mahvir pulled Nimwen aside. “There might be away we can join your troops on this mission,” he whispered, eyes intense. 

Nimwen’s brows rose. “What?” she whispered back.

“You send servants, right? Just a small group? I can teach you to hide among them without notice. We can help them.” 

“That might be easy for you, Mahvir, but do you realize how many one-armed, _vallaslin_ wearing, female elves there are in the Inquisition? There’s one, and you’re looking at her.”

At this he snorted and flicked his wrist. “Hiding the marks on your face is the easy part. Hiding how you act, that’s the hard part. Once you act like a servant no one would look twice at you, one-armed or unable to breath and walk fast. It’s the perk of being an elf in a human controlled world. No one notices you.” 

Nimwen sighed. “I appreciate the thought, Mahvir, but I don’t know. Even if I did pull it off, what use would I be once we got there? I wouldn’t be allowed near any of the valuable information and even if I could pass for a servant I doubt I could any real work. I’m still not use to...this,” she said, waving her stump angrily. “I’d just be, useless...a waste of space.”

“Never think that,” Mahvir told her. “You’re arm didn’t make you, _you_. Your arm is just a part of you and you can learn to live without that piece of you. You can learn to be just as capable with that one arm as you were with two. There are only a few things two arms are better for. Stop thinking of what you <i> _can’t_ </i> do and think on what you should do. Then set out to figure out how to do it.” 

Nimwen opened her mouth to speak, but found herself lost for words. She closed her mouth and looked down, at her remaining hand. She sighed, clenching it into a fist. “I...you’re right,” she said to Mahvir. “ _i_ _r abelas, lethallin_ , it’s just.... so many things have changed and, this has been one of the hardest. But I must stop making excuses,” she told him. “I refuse to let myself be useless. Even if the world doesn’t want my help I still want to help it. So, I’ll go on that trip, whether as the Inquisitor or as a servant.”

“Now, that is the spirit to have.” Mahvir smiled at her. “You could go as Inquisitor as well and kick your soldiers in the head whenever they try to baby you,” he pointed out. 

Nimwen chuckled. “My kick is not my strong suit, though I could bop them over the head with my staff. I haven’t used it in a while, aside from when I caught Lori using it for dress-up-” Her eyes widened. “Lori, who would watch Lori? There’s no way I could sneak away if I ask somebody to take care of her, and the only ones I trust with her are going to be the people trying to keep me from going.”

“Then go as the Inquisitor and tell them you are still you with or without an arm. And you can still be of aid to your men.” Mahvir placed a hand on her shoulder. “You have to show them you’re still capable and they will stop questioning, but only if you can stop questioning yourself.” 

“I-I suppose so,” Nimwen stuttered. She wanted to be ready, but _was_ she? 

Mahvir sighed. He placed his staff on his back. “Honestly, you’re worse than Deceit!” 

Before Nimwen could protest he had taken her shoulders, spun her around, and was stirring her down the hall back towards the paddocks. His grip wasn’t strong. In fact his hands felt weak, almost frail against her shoulders. 

“W-what are you doing?” Nimwen squeaked. She could have easily broken free of his grip, but she was too in shock do actually do so.

“We are going to show your soldiers you are still the Inquisitor and are still capable to leading them no matter the situation. Then, you are going with them to the ruins as their leader and not as a servant,” Mahvir declared. 

“I-hold on!” Nimwen finally snapped out of it and pulled herself from Mahvir’s grip. “We are getting ahead of ourselves here. Before we do any of this, I want to check on Lori.”

Mahvir staggered when she broke his grasp. He only just caught a wall to save himself from falling on his face. “I wasn’t saying we were leaving just yet. Your soldiers don’t even know what’s going on.” He pulled out his staff and leaned against it. His eyes locked on her. For a moment it looked almost like Solas was staring at her instead of Mahvir. “I’m not going to kidnap you and take you on some wild run through the country where you’ll never see your daughter again. That’s suicidal of me. Besides,” - he smiled at her - “life is too short to not try living each day as if it were your last.” 

Nimwen was taken aback. She searched his face for that spark of Solas, but like a gust of wind, it was gone, and it was just Mahvir before her. _‘What is going on?’_ she asked herself. “So…” she began, unsure of what to do now. “I promised Lori we’d eat lunch, you could join us if you’d like? I take it you’re not doing anything at the moment.”

“Not turning down free food, that’s what I’m doing.” His smile widened. “Just a warning, Fear and Deceit have this sixth sense. They always seem to know when I have food.” 

“I’m sure Lori would love to see them again,” Nimwen joked. “Come, the Divine was kind enough to let us stay in the old Seekers’ quarters. It’s much nicer than you’d assume.”

“And hopefully not too far.” Mahvir fell in beside Nimwen, his pace just as slow as it had been on the way to see the Divine. Whatever energy he had to stir her down the hall seemed to have vanished. He was favoring one leg even more than he had been before despite the staff. 

“So, where do you plan on staying while you’re in Val Royeaux?” Nimwen asked.

“I planned on not staying in the city. I hear they arrest people for sleeping on grass.” He gave Nimwen a teasing smile. “I don’t exactly have money,” he confessed. “And I don’t like begging for shelter.” 

Nimwen scoffed. “Well no need to beg, you can stay with us,” she said. “Consider it repayment for helping us.”

He stopped at her words, eyes narrowed. “That still feels like I begged for it.” 

“Well, regardless you’re staying, so, deal with it,” she smirked.

“If there is no convincing you otherwise, then very well. You’ve my thanks, Lady Nimwen.” He bowed his head to her. “Though, I wish I could give more than my thanks.” 

“I’ll consider your company extra payment.”

Mahvir laughed. “Very well.” He bowed with such elegance to her, he appeared as an noble to a lady they wished to dance with. His cloths contrasted with such a move it was almost humorous. “Then, shall we find the little lady?” he held out his hand to her.


End file.
